


Magician of the Seven Kingdoms

by CalicoKitty17



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Canonical Sibling Incest, Child Abuse, Child Marriage, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Game of Thrones-esque, Major character death - Freeform, Master of Death Harry Potter, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 03:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17399366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalicoKitty17/pseuds/CalicoKitty17
Summary: Harry Potter is not one to tolerate fools or bullies. The Seven Kingdoms has plenty of them and she is going to blow them all out of the water.





	Magician of the Seven Kingdoms

Hawisa Baratheon was the eldest of her and Joffrey; when put side by side, they were like night and day. Her hair was dark, like her father’s, and her skin tan. Joffrey took after their mother, with golden hair and light skin. The only thing they shared were their green eyes, though even those were vastly different. Joffrey’s green was light and pale, and made him seem ethereal, while hers were vivid and striking, and gave her an intensity that few had.

It was a strange thing; in all the lives she’d lived, her hair would change, her skin would change, but her eyes were always the same. Perhaps a remnant of the mother who had sacrificed herself so long ago, or the killing curse that struck but didn’t kill her trapped. She suspected she would never know.

“Harry! Harry!” Joffrey called from down the hall, the pitter-patter of his feet approaching reaching her ears.

She hid her smile with her partly-done gown and ducked her head as Lady Malota looked her way.

When Joffrey had been learning to talk, he had had a hard time pronouncing her name. She had jumped at the chance to reclaim her old nickname and privately coached him on how to say ‘Harry.’ He had picked it up in no time and as she’d hoped, it had spread like wildfire. There was a limit of course, because of her status as Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, but she would take what she could get. 

Harry stood and carefully laid her newest project on her chair. It was going to be a simple wool dress, colored crimson in honor of her old house. Her little brother had perfect timing, actually, because she was just about to have to move onto the sleeves and those were always the most difficult. Hers was going to differ from regular dress by being short-sleeved and able to fit over another gown. She wasn’t looking forward to when Lady Malota discovered her plans, and the following dress to accompany it being knee-length was going to be done in private.

Joffrey rounded the corner, face flushed and eyes bright. “Harry!” He exclaimed gleefully and launched himself at her.

She stood her ground and barely managed to keep them both from toppling over, catching him more with her stomach than her arms.

“Children,” Lady Malota scolded. “You must behave.”

“That’s Princess Child to you,” Harry said, mockingly snooty, and followed it with a teasing grin to invite the Lady into the joke.

Lady Malota huffed, amused.

“And Prince!” Joffrey added gleefully. He didn’t quite understand what it meant, but he knew that it was important and it meant people did as he said. 

She tweaked his nose to keep him humble and he pouted at her. “Harry, stop it!” 

“Never,” she told him. “Now, was there something you wanted or were you just going to interrupt my sewing lesson for your amusement?”

He scrunched up his face at her use of big words. Just having passed his 3rd year, he still had a fairly basic vocabulary. Being barely a year older, Harry probably should have modeled herself more after him and his milestones; she had found throughout her lives, however, that she didn’t have the patience to play dumb. 

At any rate, it was much too late to start pretending. She had already demonstrated her high level of intelligence by speaking in long sentences, being disturbingly aware of everything around her, doing things independently, and a variety of other things that no normal toddler would be able to do. It wasn’t as big of a deal in this world as it had been in previous worlds; maturity happened earlier than usual anyway, and there wasn’t anything to do with a particularly smart toddler. Except for the personal pride it awarded her parents and her family, nothing was really different because of it.

It was a welcome change of pace.

The last world she’d been in hadn’t been nearly so kind to prodigies.

There was a knock on her forehead. She blinked, startled, and focused on Joffrey’s frowning face. “You can’t leave,” he half-said, half-demanded. “You have to help me!”

Harry smiled warmly at him. Joffrey always knew when to distract her from her memories. This wasn’t the first life where she’d had a sibling, but it was the first one where she had a chance to get to know them; she loved it. 

“Help you with what?”

“You have to come!” He said and he started walking down the hall. 

She gave Lady Malota a quick farewell and followed after him.

Sometime later, when they were both dusted lightly with flour, and Joffrey had eggshell in his hair, Harry loved being an older sibling even more. Joffrey was beaming at the newly-made Dornish Cream Cakes and Harry was beaming at him.

Their mother, Queen Cersei, was heavy with child and very near giving birth; Joffrey had noticed that she had been in more pain lately than usual and thought that making her favorite treat would lift her spirits. Harry didn’t have that kind of relationship with their mother, but she fully supported Joffrey in all his endeavors to please her.

“I’m going to give them to mother!” Joffrey said, hopping on the step stool and reaching out to grab the tray.

“Careful!” Harry said, already seeing disaster in the future; an image of a crying Joffrey and smashed cakes came to mind. She sighed, having not really planned on seeing her mother today. For the sake of her little brother, however, was a different story. “I’ll help.”

She divided the cakes onto two smaller trays, much easier to manage between them both, and they made their way to Cersei’s bedchambers. It took several minutes longer than it usually did, with Joffrey walking at a turtle’s pace, intensely focused on the dessert and his efforts not to drop them. Harry found his concentration endearing and could barely withhold the urge to pinch his cheeks and coo.

When they finally made it up the stairs and to Cersei’s room, they found themselves face to face with an obstacle they hadn’t considered. The heavy wooden door with a handle positioned just slightly above Harry’s head. They exchanged looks.

“What do we do now?” Joffrey asked.

Harry shrugged helplessly and felt like the scum of the earth when Joffrey’s face scrunched up with disappointment. Mentally, she was a full grown adult and had lived many lives. She had fought in wars, defeated a Dark Lord, brought down an empire, led rebellions, been head of a government, and yet she couldn’t find a solution to opening a simple door. Her magic was out of the question; if it existed in this world, it didn’t work the way she was accustomed to and wouldn’t yet obey her. Her abilities as Master of Death didn’t lend themselves as any help with this kind of matter.

She was left with standing there, watching her little brother be on the verge of tears, and all she could was curse herself and her tiny, useless body.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

Harry and Joffrey both turned.

Uncle Jaime flashed a mischievous smile at them.

Simultaneously, in a practiced move, Harry and Joffrey’s eyes both went Doe-like and pleading. Many wills had been bent under the force of their combined stares. Uncle Jaime’s had been bent more than once and it showed, with the way he crumpled now, in less than a minute.

“You guys could conquer kingdoms with that,” he muttered, pushing the door open for them.

“Thanks Uncle Jaime,” Harry chirped.

“Thanks Uncle!” Joffrey echoed.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes and plucking a cake from Harry’s tray. She glared and he took a bite, mutinously.

“These are for mother!” Joffrey cried, seeming genuinely distressed.

Harry’s glare darkened. If he made her little brother cry, he would wake up to find his hair gone and his bedchamber infested with wasps. She didn’t look very fearsome, she knew, but Joffrey remembered the event from a few months ago, where she had glued his sword in its sheath right before a duel. He had teased Joffrey to the point of tears then too, a week earlier. He had dismissed her when she’d sworn revenge; he wasn’t going to do the same thing twice.

“I was just,” he searched for an excuse, “taste-testing. I don’t want your mother to get sick again, and she’s been sensitive of late.”

Joffrey sniffled, but accepted it. “I guess that’s okay. I don’t want her to get sick either.”

“What’s all this commotion?” Cersei’s voice said from within the room.

Joffrey brightened. “Mother, I made you something!” He moved carefully to her bedside and proudly presented the tray of cakes. “Harry helped!” Obligingly, she did the same and offered a smile when Cersei gaze flicked to her. “They’re your favorite,” Joffrey said, blushing slightly.

“They look wonderful,” Cersei said warmly, carefully accepting the tray from Joffrey. “Thank you very much. I’m afraid I need to rest, though, and you need to return to your history lessons.”

Joffrey groaned. “But mother, history is boring!”

Cersei didn’t say a thing, but her expression perfectly portrayed exactly what she meant it to; Joffrey gusted out a large breath, deflating. “Fine.”

“I’ll escort him to make sure he gets where he’s supposed to be,” Harry said, excusing herself alongside Joffrey.

“Very well,” Cersei allowed.

As they left the bedchamber, Harry heard Cersei address Jaime: “Throw these away. Sugar makes me ill.” Then the door shut behind them.


End file.
